


The Secret Garden

by Idling



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-04 08:55:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idling/pseuds/Idling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John loves Sherlock but he finds himself unable to tell him...</p><p> </p><p>I accepted it today that much is clear. I accepted it when I walked in on him. He was completely covered in something which looked like… yeah it looked like jam. He said it was for an experiment, and I was just done. He is a brilliant crazy bastard. That was when I realized that I had accepted it. I had known for a while that… that I loved him, I hadn’t been able to accept it though. But when I walked in on him like that, the first thought that shot through my mind was: “how can you not love a person who covers himself in jam for some crazy experiment?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What to do?

I should tell him? Shouldn’t I? I really should. I owe him that. Don’t I? I mean after all where would I be without him?  
I guess he deserves to know about my feelings. But he could deny me; he might be repelled by me. I mean, I think Sherlock is above all these things which ordinary people call love. He might be afraid of me, afraid of how to handle my feelings. I might repel him because I am supposed to just be his assistant and friend, but friend that is really extraordinary, he told me before that he had no friends. I really should though, tell him, just to get it out. But how? 

GOD… 

Don’t be ridiculous, your lives together now are cool. They’re great actually. You love it, why should you ask for more? I bite my lower lip. I know my feelings are reflected all over my face, I really need to find the poker mask before I return home to Sherlock. He might know all ready though, he might have known all the way. I mean he is, well he is Sherlock. He’s able to see through people. He’s a brilliant bastard. 

Shit! 

Where did this start? When did I realize? 

I accepted it today that much is clear. I accepted it when I walked in on him. He was completely covered in something which looked like… yeah it looked like jam. He said it was for an experiment, and I was just done. He is a brilliant crazy bastard. That was when I realized that I had accepted it. I had known for a while that… that I loved him, I hadn’t been able to accept it though. But when I walked in on him like that, the first thought that shot through my mind was: “how can you not love a person who covers himself in jam for some crazy experiment?” 

I am unfortunately in love with my flat mate. I am not only in love, I am also pretty sure I love him. When I asked him what the experiment was for, he answered something about smells. I didn’t catch it; I couldn’t concentrate about his words. I could only stare at him, trying to memorize the look of him forever. 

Then I decided to leave the apartment, because I couldn’t hide my feelings. Sherlock always know how I feel.  
That means he probably knows already. They have been there for a while, the feelings. The faster beating of my heart. Me short of breath. Me not able to take my eyes of him. My pupils dilating. I just wasn’t able to accept it before today. 

People have known for a while, haven’t they? The feelings have been shining through me. I must have had some sort of aura, some sort of sparkling light around me telling everyone that I Doctor John Hamish Watson love Sherlock Holmes.  
My telephone shakes, it is a message… from Sherlock 

\- where are you?

I’m not sure I want to answer that right now. I need to know how to handle this. If he already knows, then I need to find a way to discuss it with him. Don’t I? I mean it can’t lay unsaid beneath the surface forever. A new message. 

\- John I need your assistance! 

Yeah Sherlock… and I need your… your what? Your body? Your heart? What do I need? 

\- Are you mad at me? 

No I am not, I am crazy about you. This message though it surprises me. Why are you asking about how I am? 

\- You know there is jam left if you want some? 

Scraped from your body? Would it taste of you? No john, you shouldn’t think like that.  
Shit it looks like it is going to rain! 

What shall I do? And what is it that I need? I am wandering around in a park now. How did I end up here? It isn’t one of the famous parks of London. Just a small one, it is a small almost secret garden hidden here between the houses and roads.

GOD… Nononononono. Not just raining it pours down now. I will be soaked before I can get home. Okay I guess this is a sign, I have to return home, and find a way to tell him. I don’t know how, and how can I tell him about it when I don’t know what to expect, what to ask of him.  
…  
“John you’re soaking”, he actually sounds concerned as I enter the living room, or maybe he’s just afraid that there will get water on some of his papers laying spread all over the floor. 

“No shit Sherlock”, I just need to get up to my room and change my clothes, and then I will try to figure out a way to tell him.  
He evaluates me now, he scans my face, finds every clue of where I been and what I am thinking. 

“I’ll make you a cup of tea”, he then says with his characteristic voice. Maybe I’ll tell him some later time.  
“That would be wonderful”


	2. A Holmes knows everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When I run distressed from the house, I always end up here in this quiet garden. It is small and a little bit wild. Like someone has forgotten it. There is a smell of spring, and somehow I find myself able to relax when I walk around in here. It is like all my problems, all my sorrows become clearer. I can handle them when I am here. Or at least I can tolerate them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the bad grammar. I had no notes with the first chapter because I was a bit uncertain if it should just be one chapter or more, but here the next chapter is. And I actually have a plot, so I guess I will continue this story.. :)

The garden is beautiful today. It is like my own secret place. I can hide here, when Sherlock is too much. When it all is too much. I haven’t told him. I just can’t find the words, it’s like when he looks at me with those piercing eyes I just goes numb. I have tried, many times. But I haven’t been able to make it past:” Sherlock I…” then I just stop, the words I wanted to say disappear and I end up telling him I am taking a walk, or something like that, instead. Really John, he must have noticed that you walk quite often nowadays. 

When I run distressed from the house, I always end up here in this quiet garden. It is small and a little bit wild. Like someone has forgotten it. There is a smell of spring, and somehow I find myself able to relax when I walk around in here. It is like all my problems, all my sorrows become clearer. I can handle them when I am here. Or at least I can tolerate them. 

There is a marbel statue of a young man; I think it is some Greek god. He has goat legs and horns so he could be a Christian devil figure, but I find that his face is too friendly to belong to a demon. He plays the flute, or it looks like he plays it, course his stone lips will never make a sound. I don’t know why but it hits me as sad. It is sad that this statue will never move that it never will experience life. I sigh, when did I become this romantic? 

It is all green in here, of course it’s green, it’s a garden. What I mean is that it appears to me as a much clearer green than in other gardens or parks. There is some sort of life in this color, some different shade of green. The smells in here are brighter as well, more relaxing than in for example Hyde Park. I sit on a bench, it is white but the painting is peeling off. I rest my head in my hands, I know how I must look to a stranger, like a confused, tired, maybe sad person… and that’s exactly what I am.

“This garden is like a fairytale”. I lift my head, shocked. A man swaying his umbrella in the air is walking towards me, “hello John”, Mycroft says. I meet his eyes; I guess my look is irritated course Mycroft smiles his teasing smile and says, “Oh, don’t be like that John. Today I am talking to you as a friend, and not as some mysterious gallant man from the government”. 

Who actually is the government, I add in my head. Mycroft, I don’t even care to try to figure out how he found me. A Holmes knows everything. But why is he here? He must have read the question in my face for he says:” I am here to talk with you about my brother”, I make a move as if I am leaving,” no, no sit down, I don’t want you to spy on him or anything like that this time”. I sigh. “John”, his voice has a strange tone, is it concern? Is Mycroft concerned? His brows are twisted, as if what he is going to say costs him a lot of effort. 

“John, you’ve been distant lately, so I decided to talk with you”, his eyes searches for mine, “I know you’ve been distant because” he makes a nonchalant move with the shoulders, a move which mean, you know how I know it. I really don’t know how he knows it. Cameras, he might have bugged our apartment. Has he spoken with Sherlock? I don’t know, but I guess it doesn’t matter much, I am used to Mycroft and Sherlock just know stuff.

“John my concern is about whether your changed mood has something to do with your feelings towards my brother”, Mycroft sits himself by my site, I think he tries to act friendly. I roll my eyes, what to do?  
“I see”, Mycroft just says, and then there is a noisy silence for what seems like eternity. “I will presume that you already have figured that my brother is not like… other people”, his voice breaks the silence sharply. I keep my eyes on the ground. GOD, I didn’t ask for this, did I? I mean I liked being Sherlock’s friend; I didn’t need to be more, until yeah… well… until… I can’t tell when it started. I can tell when I came to terms with me being in love with another man, but I can’t tell when he first made my heart jump. It could have been the first day; it could have much sooner I don’t know. He is such a great part of my life, that I can’t separate him from the rest. I can’t tell when I didn’t were in love with him, I can’t tell… anymore. 

“John, my brother knows nothing about love… of course he knows the chemical and the biotical side of it, but the feelings and the responsibilities you suddenly have, this he knows nothing about”, Mycroft sighs. I feel my stomach turn uncomfortably. Then Mycroft’s voice becomes almost soothing,” But John, I won’t say that he is unable to learn, if you make him understand how you feel, he might be able to return your feelings”. 

“I think he might already know, with his ability to read other people”, my voice is a bit angry, but also confused, I am not sure that I have any control of myself and my feelings right now, I don't like discussing this with Mycroft. 

“when it comes to himself, he can be blind… Don’t you remember the Christmas with Molly”. I do remember that Christmas, how humiliated Molly was. But I also remember Irene Adler, he was able to see how her feelings were, so why shouldn’t he be able to see how I feel. “You’re thinking about Irene Adler” Mycroft voice is soft, “I am not saying that he always is blind for other people’s feelings, but sometimes he is. With Irene there was a really big pressure, and considering how fast he can be, it really took him a while to figure that: I am Sherloocked code out”. 

“So you are saying, that I should just tell Sherlock”, I turn towards Mycroft and meets his gaze. “No, my intention was to ask of you to make up your mind, I can tell that my brother cares for you, and when you are absentminded it affects him. I can’t guarantee that his feelings are the same as yours, but I can guarantee that if you don’t make up your mind soon, it will hurt your both”. I twist uncomfortably. “Therefore I ask of you to make a decision… Either you must hide your feelings and forget about them, or you must confront him. The world needs Sherlock Holmes and I think Sherlock Holmes needs you at least as a friend”.

We sit quietly for some time.

His words sinking in. I don't know what to say or think right now...

Then he stands up,” It is funny you should choose this garden”, he says completely changing topic. “why?” I ask a bit confused. He looks down at me for a moment, then he shakes his head, “Oh nothing, it doesn’t matter”.


	3. A gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apropos Sherlock, he is looking strange at me right now, why is that. He expects me to say something? Have he asked me a question? Oh from the expression on Lestrade’s face I can tell he must had one if his brilliant speeches. “Fantastic Sherlock”, I say, it really sounds false, I can hear that myself. Sherlock lifts an eyebrow, he looks hurt, without giving me an opportunity to talk, he turns around.

Sherlock is really annoyed today. The whole of Lestrade’s team is pissing him off. They destroyed some clues because they walked in with muddy boots, I think that is what sat him off.

It’s a small house, a small normal townhouse, nothing unusual here, I think, but of course Sherlock is able to see behind the façade. He means the woman who is lying dead in the couch, was a drug dealer, or more precisely she was a dealer for another dealer. He points clues out all over the house. Donovan is irritated with him, like she always is, and Anderson left in anger a minute ago. I just follow Sherlock today; I am not in mood for asking him question. Normally I find these scenes exciting, normally I can’t stop praising Sherlock for his intellect, but today I am not really listening or seeing. Mycroft’s monologue from yesterday is playing in my head. Sherlock is affected by me. The facts that I am confused and sad, annoys him. Sherlock needs me… But what if he only needs me as friend, what if I destroy it all by revealing my feelings?

Apropos Sherlock, he is looking strange at me right now, why is that. He expects me to say something? Have he asked me a  
question? Oh from the expression on Lestrade’s face I can tell he must had one if his brilliant speeches. “Fantastic Sherlock”, I say, it really sounds false, I can hear that myself. Sherlock lifts an eyebrow, he looks hurt, without giving me an opportunity to talk, he turns around.  
Great John… really great, you could at least try to act normal! Why am I such an idiot? 

Is that the solution, should I act as if nothing has changed, should I really conceal it all? … No…I don’t think I am able to do that.  
“See”, he exclaims when he opens a drawer in an old cupboard, “not only was she a dealer, she was also addicted herself”. I look in the drawer it is filled with syringes. Donovan mumbles something like,” it takes one to know one”, Sherlock chooses to overhear it. 

Sherlock then points at some marks, it looks like someone has scratched the tree, “this, is marks from a cat, I suggest you go and find it”. “Sherlock”, I murmur, “what use is the cat of?” Sherlock doesn’t care to answer; he just continues his search in the room. I sigh. He starts to knock at the cupboard. I just stand paralyzed, what is he doing? He then exclaims a triumphing sound. “See John, here is a secret drawer”. He slides his hand along the tree, and manages to move a small square piece of tree, behind it is what looks like a small lock. “What’s in there”, I ask now I am curious. “Isn’t it obvious?” Sherlock look astonished at me. I look back at him. “It’s what the killers were after”. “So they were after something?” I look at the small drawer, what could be in there? 

“Don’t be stupid, John!” Sherlock says with his shrewd voice.  
GOD Sherlock, I wish I could manage not to be, I wish I could tell you. If I should thrust Mycroft, then you don’t know, but how can you not know? 

“John, are you okay?” Sherlock looks bewildered at me; I’ve been caught by my own thoughts again, and now Sherlock actually asks me if I am okay… I guess this is bad then. 

“yeah I am fine…Just…. Hmm… just thinking”, my voice is weak, but Sherlock seems to accept my answer. 

“Oh, there it is”, Sherlock suddenly cries, I turn around and see Donovan walking in to the room with a fat, ruffled looking, red cat. It has a collar around its neck, and Sherlock runs to it and tries to take the collar of, in his attempt of loosening it, the cat suddenly goes wild. Sherlock quickly steps back, and it is Donovan who ends up with all the scratches. “Don’t let go of that cat”, he shouts at her, and she angrily hands me the wild cat, which surprisingly relaxes as soon as it is in my arms. I sit myself in the nearest couch and loosen the collar. Carefully I caress the animal, while I hand the collar to Sherlock. He got that childish, eager look on his face, and I can’t help to smile. I love him… The cat begins to purr. 

He fumbles with the collar for some short time and then he withdraws a small, shining, silver key. Elegantly he opens the small drawer and takes out a little notebook. He hands it to Lestrade with a smirk. “This is what she was killed for”, he says triumphantly, “ I believe it consists details about her customers and who her superior was”. I am all questions now. “Why didn’t they just take the book?”

“Oh, she wasn’t killed because of the book in that meaning; she was killed because she was dumb enough to write the information down, which probably is against some unwritten rule. And then they were stupid enough to not get the book before they killed her”. 

“But how did you know about the cat?” Lestrade says. “oh it is clear that here lives a cat, food bowls, cat hair and so one… but if you looked closely enough, you would see that she had scratches on her arms, bound to be from this cat”, Sherlock points towards the fat animal. “ If you look on the furniture close to this cupboard, and if you look at the cupboard you would see that there is a lot of scratches here too”, he holds a dramatically pause, “ therefore you can conclude that she must have had her fights with this beast, could be normal petting, but as it is mostly around this cupboard I assumed that there were a connection, when you look at cupboard you would observe that it is dusty, but not around here”, he points at the secret drawer. 

I could kiss him; I could let my libs follow the lines of his face. I could press my mouth against his. I could bite his earlobe. John, get yourself together! I really could though, how would it feel? How would he taste? 

…

“Oh, Lestrade”, Sherlock says as we leave the house, “could I have the cat?”  
Lestrade looks suspicious at Sherlock,” Why? You are not going to preserve it in your refrigerator or something like that?”. “No no, not at all, I just feel a strong connection with every living being who is brave enough to scratch Donovan”, Sherlock answers. Lestrade can’t help to smile but he remembers himself and changes his expression quickly while he walk back into the house. 

When Lestrade returns with the cat in a pet box, he says instructively, “this cat is actually evidence, so take good care of it”. He hands Sherlock the box, and I hear a hissing from inside. Sherlock smiles at me, it is clear that he is happy, “for you” he says as he gives me the box. The cat is quiet.


	4. Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it just is deliriums caused by the fever, but I haven’t been this sick since I was 10 or less. It’s just a little flu John; you really should be able to manage! For God's sake you’re a doctor. Right now a sick doctor, though… I don’t want to be anything.

I hate to be sick, I feel so tired, so useless. My own diagnosis says influenza. My head hurts and my eyes are sore. I have a fever. It feels like my room turns around me while I am drowning in my bed. I know it just is deliriums caused by the fever, but I haven’t been this sick since I was 10 or less. It’s just a little flu John; you really should be able to manage! For God's sake you’re a doctor. Right now a sick doctor, though… I don’t want to be anything. 

Mycroft lies in my bed, on my feet more exactly. He purrs gently. It really was Sherlock idea to name the cat Mycroft. I just think it is silly. I asked Sherlock, why we suddenly should have that cat. Not that I mind, actually I think it is rather nice, even though the only one who the cat likes is me. It hates Sherlock and everyone else. Sherlock finds the cat amusing; he told me that he couldn’t let such a clever animal be in the care of the police. When he says it is clever, I think he refers to its attack on Donovan. Anyway right now it is nice to have company, even though it is just a fat cat. 

I don’t think Sherlock has noticed that I am still lying in my bed. He is caught up by something. I really don’t care right now… Mrs. Hudson would certainly fuss about me if she discovered…. Hmm … it would be nice. I mean it would be nice to be taken care of.  
God… I feel dizzy…. What time is it? Should I try to call for Sherlock? No, he wouldn’t hear it. It would just make my headache worse. 

I think Mycroft is sleeping, lucky bastard… Right now I would love to be a cat. To be a cat would really be nice, I think. I am cold; I could really need an extra blanket, and a cup of tea. The only thing that would help would be if I could sleep. Sleep is really the best medicine when it comes to the flu. But I can’t, I can’t relax, I don’t know why. 

“John!”, Sherlock yells, he is downstairs. Wonder what he needs me for. It doesn’t matter. Today I am not available. “John!”. Not now Sherlock, I am sick and tired. I hear steps on the stairs. With his deducing skills he should be able to figure that I am sick, shouldn’t he? 

Now he stands in the door entry. He is beautiful; he looks elflike, doesn’t he? Okay that must be the fever thinking. He carefully steps in. Mycroft hisses at him and then angrily leaves the room. Sherlock doesn’t notice the cat at all. 

He lays a hand on my forehead while he kneels by my side. I follow him with my eyes. I can’t read his face. His hand is soft and warm against my skin. Sherlock has beautiful hands, long and elegant. I love his hands. I love him. “you should sleep”, he says, his voice is softer than ever. He really cares. “I can’t”, I whisper my voice is hoarse, I find it hard to form the words. He looks thoughtfully at me. Then he leaves. When he comes back he has a blanket with him, which he tucks around me. I just look at him, my whole world is tilting.. it must be the fever… 

Shortly after he returns with a cup of tea, which he places on my bed table. Then he leaves again. I take a sip from the tea. I feel a warmth deep inside, as I sink it. Great tea… 

I lie down again. I am not as dizzy as before. I close my eyes. A soft melody is playing in my head, it’s one of those Sherlock plays, the one I love the must. I can picture him as I imagine the tune. When I open my eyes I discover that Sherlock stands by my bed, he has closed eyes. He plays his violin… for me…as a lullaby. How did he know that I love this tune… It helps. I sleep, I don’t know for how long, but when I wake up. Sherlock sits on my bedside. He has a thoughtful look in his eyes as they meet my gaze. Without considering it I whisper, ” I´m a bit cold”. When he tries to stand, Ishake my head, he notices it at once. With a weak move I reach for him. What the hell… I can always blame the fever. He nods. He understands. He crawls in under the blanket and duvet. I turn my back at him and move closer to him, while I awkwardly search for his hand, when I find it I shows his arm around my waist. I can feel his breath against my neck. He is warm. I am tired and sick, and I need comfort. He relaxes as I give his hand a small tuck. “Sleep” he whispers in my ear.


	5. Ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I smile happily as I enter the living room. Sherlock stands completely still looking out the window with his back against me. I feel a shiver down my back as I see him. Contrary to yesterday my mind is clear. No deliriums today. I’m ready.

I slept heavenly… with Sherlock by my side. I am pretty sure his arm has been comfortably around me all night. My fever is gone, though my head still hurts a bit. Sherlock must be up already. I don’t regret reaching for him yesterday, but I really think it is time to get myself together and talk with him. I am not afraid of it anymore, I mean; after all he stayed with me the whole night. 

I can hear him walking around in the living room. Is he nervous? Nervous for talking about what my acts yesterday showed? I guess I have to confess, confess that I love him. Finally I will be able to say it. 

I smile happily as I enter the living room. Sherlock stands completely still looking out the window with his back against me. I feel a shiver down my back as I see him. Contrary to yesterday my mind is clear. No deliriums today. I’m ready. He doesn’t turn around, but he knows I am here. “Good morning”, my voice shakes a bit. He doesn’t answer; he just stands there looking outside. I swallow, did he not hear me?

“Sherlock?” I ask, my eyes caressing his back. He turns around slowly, and I can’t help to step back a bit. He has a dark expression. He looks almost tormented. “Sherlock what’s wrong?” he frightens me, when he looks at me like that. I step forward again trying to reach for him, but he moves out of my reach, and I understand he doesn’t want me near him. I am suddenly not as confident as before. I can feel how all my joy over the night disappears.   
I can’t do anything else but standing frozen in front of him. He must regret taking care of me. His eyes study me, then he starts to speak, his voice cleared for all emotions. 

“John, I…” he stops, he looks down, it’s as if he can’t bring himself to say it, “John, I have to go, you know for a case… I think you should stay at home, I mean considering how sick you were yesterday”. Though these words should show that he just care for me, the underlying meaning is another: He doesn’t want me with him. I swallow hard, I can’t look at him. This is a rejection; this is what a rejection feels like. He doesn’t want me. He looks at me as if he has more to say, he sighs instead and I hear him leaving, the closing of the front door… 

I stand still for a long time, my mind completely blank. Then I sit down in the couch, burying my face in my hands.   
Shit…. Mycroft waltzes through the room. I reach for the red cat, and lift him up. He begins to purr. I smile a sad smile. “At least you’re not afraid of loving me”, my voice sounds strange in my own ears, I shake my head. I’ll just have to bury the feelings, to continue being his friend. I mean I can’t move or anything like that. I can’t survive a life without him.

He’s gone mostly of the day, when he returns, he’s his normal self. Maybe he tells me about the case, maybe not, I don’t listen. I try to act normal, but I think it’ll have to wait for tomorrow. I feel sick, as sick as yesterday, but in another way. 

Well Sherlock is Sherlock, and I’m me, and right now I can’t bear to be in here. I need to get out. I text Stanford, asking if he wants to grasp a beer. He quickly answers; we agree to meet in a pub nearby. I don’t even say goodbye, I just leave. 

… 

It’s a classic pub, nothing special about it, nothing too strange. I talked with Stanford for a while, and then he had to go home, wife or something like that. Now I’m here by my own, but it’s okay. It’s all okay. I think I am a little drunk, but in the good way, in the way where you are happy and funny. I’m funny, I’m a funny man. There’s a girl by the bar, she looks at me often. She has brown curly hair and a heart shaped face. Her eyes are big and blue. I don’t know if she is beautiful, she could be. God… she’s flirting with me, isn’t she? I try to reply with a smile. I don’t know if I want to talk with her…She looks friendly. She walks over to me now, smiling. Be nice John. “Hey, my name is Mary”, she says while she sits down by my side. 

… 

 

GOD! My head…

 

It really hurts! 

 

I must be a bit hangover… 

 

Wait… 

 

How did I get home last night? 

 

Oh God, has Sherlock seen me like this? 

 

As I open my eyes I realize what a bit mistake I’ve made. In short terms, I’m not home. I’m not in my own room or bed. This is a stranger’s bed, and the stranger is lying by my side. Naked only covered by a duvet. “Good morning”, she says. She must have been awake for a while; she must have laid there and just looked at me. She kisses me soft on my mouth, “do you need something?” she asks while she stands up. Mary, her name was Mary, wasn’t it?


	6. I’m also capable of being human

I’m tired when I finally stand before the front door. When I open it, I am met by Mrs. Hudson. She looks concerned and signals with a small gesture that I should follow her. When we stand in her apartment, I try to search her face for clues, but I’m not Sherlock. She looks at me with wide eyes, “John, I think there is something wrong with Sherlock”. “Why?” my voice is filled with worry. She looks around as if she is securing no one is listening, “he’s just, he’s just been up all night, and I know that’s normal for him… I mean when he is caught by a case and so, but,” she stops for a moment, considering her next words. “But?” I ask her, trying to guide her. Her eyes meet mine. I can see how there’s something bothering her. “But he’s been downstairs asking me whether I knew where you were, and he sat here for quite a while, you know. In the middle of the night. I could tell he was sad, but about what?”

I’ve been worrying Sherlock… well he’ll know where I’ve been as soon as he sees me, even though I showered and tried to make my clothe look proper, he’ll be able to tell. “Don’t worry Mrs. Hudson, I’ve neglected to tell him where I went, it’s my fault”. 

I turned my mobile off, because I didn’t want to be reached. The last part is just a sentence in my head. Mrs. Hudson stands nervously in front of me. ”you’ve not been fighting?” she asks with a tiny voice, I shake my head as an answer. “Probably he knows I ‘m home, I should go up there”.

Sherlock sits in the couch when I come in, not even looking at me, ”Where have you been?”, his voice is hoarse, and for a little moment I feel the sting of bad conscience. “Just out,” I answer,” with Stanford”.

Sherlock studies me, “and with a girl, I can see”. I shake my head irritated, “none of your business!”  
Sherlock stands up; he looks so vulnerable standing there in the dim morning light. He has dark rings under his eyes, has he really been that concerned? I mean he’s Sherlock; he would be able to figure out where I went. “John”, he says as if he’s reading my mind,” ever since that time with Moriarty, I’ve hated it when I didn’t know where you were.”  
“I’m sorry,” I really am, Sherlock! I just needed to be away from you. I needed to escape from what I felt was a clear rejection. What you say surprises me, I didn’t expect you to be concerned for me. I 

“I thought you would figure it out, if you wanted to know”. He shakes his head, “that’s not the point”, he looks at me with a look filled with hurt feelings, I can’t meet his eyes, it’s not as if I feel proud of last night. The girl, Mary, expects me to call her. I felt sick as I left her apartment, knowing that I’ll never call.

“God, Sherlock! You don’t have to treat me, as if I’m a little child. I am a grown up man. I’m actually capable of taking care of myself!” I shout the last part, it’s just too much this… this… this.. Sherlock being hurt, when I myself feel so broken. 

“John, sometimes I’m actually capable of being human”, Sherlock sounds hurt, he looks at me as if there is something I don’t see, and maybe there is… I want to swallow my words again. I’m not used to Sherlock acting like this. I mean, there is something strange in his expression, which I have never seen before.  
Sherlock turns around when I don’t answer him. He turns around and walks out of the door. I feel more alone than I’ve ever felt before. 

Maybe it was I who wanted to argue, I guess I was the one starting this fight. It’s just… It’s just… I feel so stupid, so misplaced right now… I feel as if I’ve ruined it all. Maybe I have. Should I run after him, and try to apologize?


	7. Searching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I guess I might have read too much into Sherlock’s actions. I might have been too focused on myself; it’s just hard to separate. I mean it’s after all Sherlock. He’s the sort of guy who is capable of drugging you to make point. It’s Sherlock the high functioning sociopath, right?

Mycroft, the cat, studies me with his dark eyes, which seem to ask:” what the hell are you doing”. The cat just sits there in front of me. His dark eyes are searching me.   
John it’s just a cat, it’s not judging you. 

I guess I might have read too much into Sherlock’s actions. I might have been too focused on myself; it’s just hard to separate. I mean it’s after all Sherlock. He’s the sort of guy who is capable of drugging you to make point. It’s Sherlock the high functioning sociopath, right? 

The cat looks skeptical now, it’s not like I’ve said anything out loud, but it looks at me with an expression that says:” you don’t have to tell me how Sherlock is, I know exactly how Sherlock is”. I twist uncomfortable in my seat. Where did he go? 

The cat still looks at me. “Oh go to hell!” I grasp a pillow and throw it after the animal. Mycroft hisses and runs into the kitchen for hiding. Relax John, really.. 

Maybe I need a walk too, I could look for Sherlock.   
As I walk the streets of London looking for my best friend I realize how little it matters. In the end it doesn’t matter if Sherlock won’t be with me as … yeah as a lover. I need him, even if we can’t be more than friends.   
…  
“Hey Molly”, I look eagerly at her, my voice is filled with hope. “Have you seen Sherlock?”.   
She looks confused at me with her wide eyes, I try to smile. “No, I haven’t. I mean, he was at Bart yesterday, but I haven’t seen him since”. I feel how my whole attitude goes dark, if he isn’t at Barts, where is he then?   
“Is something wrong”, Molly almost whisper, a little nervous of touching something unspeakable “have you been fighting?” There is something in her voice. Oh Molly, you too... For how long have you assumed that Sherlock and I were more than …well… friends? How you must hate me. 

“Sort of”, I say, I am about to cry… Shit… I don’t cry in public places. Bart is defiantly too public. Molly senses the fight inside me. She takes me by the arm and shoves me in a chair. “You don’t have to tell me what happened” she stands before me, suddenly not as nervous, “only if you need to talk about it, though I’m not the best to discuss it with”; she says making a wild gesture with her hand. She might be wrong. I think that Molly must be the only other person in the world, who understands my feeling, who understands what I am going through. But I can’t tell her, can I? I mean it would be cruel to us both, wouldn’t it? We could form a group of people hopelessly in love with Sherlock. A group consisting of me and Molly. God John… you don’t make sense right now! 

“you know who probably knows where he is?” Molly says, ignoring my silence. “You should try to call Mycroft”, she smiles a naïve smile. She is probably right though, I just don’t feel like talking with Mycroft. “No, I think I will try and get a reach of Lestrade, Sherlock is probably just out having fun at some crime scenes”, I stand up and begins to leave. Molly blushes, “oh, ehm, could you please give this to Lestrade, when you see him?”

She finds a small bag which she hands me. Her head is the colour of a tomato. “It’s just some of his clothes, I washed for him…. I thought he might would be needing them”, she murmurs, as I accept the bag. Guess Molly isn’t going to be a part of the hopelessly in love with Sherlock Holmes club then. Molly and Greg, who would have thought that? 

 

Greg grins at me when I give him the bag from Molly,“So John, what brings you here? Course I guess you’re not just here because of my laundry”. I shake my head, my smile vanishes,” I wondered if you might have seen Sherlock”. Lestrade’s expression changes,” no I haven’t”. “Have you been fighting?” He asks teasingly. I look down. When he sees that he was right, the teasing expression disappears. “You know, it’s quite normal to fight with Sherlock”, he says as he comfortingly lays a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure he won’t hold a grudge against you”. 

 

… 

 

It’s twilight. I am still searching for Sherlock. I know that it’s impossible to find him if he doesn’t want to be found, but still I am not going to give up. I need to find him. I need to apologize. My mobile phone vibrates I look at it, it’s a message from Mycroft(the human): 

 

“try the garden”


	8. The Secret Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When I find him I will tell him directly that I love him. I need to say it, I need to make it noticeable, to make it something which he can’t overlook. Just so we are clear. I want to tell him now, and he can’t escape it.

At first I don’t understand what the message is about, and then I it hits me. It’s my garden, my secret hiding place which he refers to. But why should Sherlock be there? 

I automatically shift direction. Why does it concern me so? I mean Sherlock is sort of capable of taking care of himself, I shouldn’t be afraid of him doing something … getting in danger.

When I find him I will tell him directly that I love him. I need to say it, I need to make it noticeable, to make it something which he can’t overlook. Just so we are clear. I want to tell him now, and he can’t escape it. 

I remember our little fight, it seems so stupid now. I was angry because I felt guilty about having been with another, with Mary, when Sherlock was really the only one I wanted to be with. In another time though, I would have fallen completely for a girl like Mary. I would have married that sort of girl. But that’s just too bad, right now in this time, this day, I only want Sherlock. It’s dark now. The air is chilling. I am almost there. 

The statue shines white in the darkness; I can almost make out the contours of it, blurry in the night. It looks mystically as if it’s not from this world. A ghost observing the world. Is that a flute I hear? No it’s just the wind. Get yourself together John! My throat is dry, my hands are sweaty. 

“Sherlock” I call out. The night consumes my words. Nobody answers. “Sherlock”, I call again, louder this time. A sound makes me turn around, but there’s nothing. Maybe Mycroft didn’t mean this garden, maybe he meant something else, and maybe it was a code he thought I would understand. Maybe it meant nothing. 

“Sherlock I am sorry” I suddenly call out as if it isn’t me controlling my voice. I just want to find him. “John”. I start to run, God… he sounded so small. Please… please let him be alright.

When I find him, he sits on the grass almost concealed by bushes. I kneel down in front of him. The grass is wet, and so are my knees now. He doesn’t look at me. His face is completely blank, cleared for emotions, like a statue. “Sherlock” I say softly. He turns slowly, his face towards me. Something in his gaze is different. I can’t quite say what though. “Sherlock you get sick from sitting here, come with me home”, I say trying to make him stand, by taking a firm hold of his arm and trying stand up myself. He stops me,” you are my garden you know”, his voice sounds strange, alien. It isn’t a question, it’s a statement. Is he on something? What does he mean? 

“Sherlock have you… have you taken anything?” my voice crumples in my mouth, coming out all wrong. His eyes meet mine, he shakes his head. It doesn’t convince me, but something about him makes me let go of his arm, I sit down again. My trousers now completely soaked from the dew. “What do you mean?” I sound almost patient, almost understanding. He looks down, suddenly filled with shyness,” When I was grew up… It was hard… being different… not socializing… not wanting to… sometimes I needed comfort”, his words coming out shattered.

It couldn’t have been easy for him, I understand that completely. Sherlock young, hormones, expectations, broken. I want to let a hand slide through his hair. I want to comfort him, I want to forget our fight. “always being the freak… I never really cared though, what other thought of me… but sometimes it all became too much. When that happened I went here” he looks directly at me, not sure of his next words. “You lived nearby here as a kid?” he nods and points in a direction to indicate where. I look at him, I know he doesn’t want me to feel sorry for him, he is trying to make a point, but he is unsure of how. He hesitates, “Mycroft knew this was my hiding place, I went here when I was high as well. He always managed to find me at bring me home. But he knew about this place being my sanctuary from… well from the world”. Mycroft knew, yes, he found it strange that I too hided in this place. “This place… somehow when I was here I could relax”, silence, only our breathing can be heart. “But that was only until I meet you”. My heart begins to thud completely wild behind my chest. “You had the same effect on me, with you I could be reasonable, and I could relax more… Not that it ever was a strong side of my personality. You have been my garden”.

I take his hand, silently I caress his palm. “John” he says this slowly, it’s like when he makes a point, and tries to spell it out for a not understanding person, “I need you… and I think you are the most important person to me… I just I’m not used to… you know” he looks at me with eyes begging me to understand, and I do understand. “That’s why if I screw up… That’s why I was so concerned and angry when you came home… I thought I had pushed away… I was afraid that this woman you’d been with would take… that you would leave me all alone”. I’ve never seen him this way before. I’ve never heard him being this earnest about his feelings. The closest was that time at Baskerville when we had fought. But that time he also thought he drugged me… Should I be afraid? I don’t want to anymore. I don’t want to hesitate anymore. Who knows what will happen tomorrow. There isn’t time for acting silly, so I just lean in and let my acts ask for me. My lips carefully brushing his. He freezes but then I feel the pressure from his lips reacting to mine. “I will never leave you”, I whisper as we have to leave each other’s mouths for breathing. He sinks, his gaze chained to my. “It’s not like everything is perfect now… This isn’t going to be easy” he whisper in response, “I’m not going to change just like that”. I nod, and instead of saying something I kiss him again, this time more eager, this time more craving. 

We stay in the secret garden that night. Our hands discover each other’s bodies. Our bodies give in to something we can’t control. I guess this was the answer I was looking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter, I might rewrite some of this though at some time. I will also try to get this story betaed. But not now ;)
> 
> I hope you have enjoyed this small story, I defiantly had fun writing it, though English isn’t what I’m best at. Feel free to leave a comment. And thank you if you managed to read it all :D


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